


It Comes In Waves

by stuphanie



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuphanie/pseuds/stuphanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet revolving around Cousland and the extent that she will go to achieve revenge and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Comes In Waves

He looks at her like she is the most beautiful being in the world. She is as such, as well as prickly and hard when she needs to be, much like the rose that Alistair gives her when they reach Redcliff. It is small and had only just burst from its bud. She accepts it with an uncharacteristically coy smile and presses it into the heavy locket that she wears hidden under her armour.

Cousland is cold-hearted when they finally cross paths with Arl Rendon Howe. She looks down on him, her ocean blue eyes devoid of sparkle and emotion, mere glass orbs as she watches the traitorous man down at her feet. Alistair and the others watch on helplessly, their weapons sheathed and their persons splattered with blood. Even Dog is silent. Alistair wants to do, to say, anything, but he knows that this isn't his fight.

Cousland grips Howe’s neck in her fist, her face blank when she plunges the dagger deep into his heart. A rasping gurgle is issued from his throat and Cousland watches the light leave Howe’s eyes. Something that resembles triumph flits across her face but it is gone in a split second. She leaves without another word, without showing any relief that her family had been avenged. Alistair just watches her and, one by one, the others follow her out of the dungeon.

Cousland is quiet when they all eat stew around the campfire. The rest of the party shoot her furtive glances, some even attempting conversation, but she is unresponsive. Only when Alistair speaks to her alone does she show any emotion. She speaks in a monotone, but then the tears begin to fall. Slowly, one droplet at a time, dripping down her cheeks unchecked. She looks confused, as if wondering why her eyes had suddenly started leaking. Alistair hushes her and wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders but she pushes him away, tears of anger and frustration and hurt, months of heartache, all pouring out of her in this dingy campsite.

“It’s not enough, it’s not enough,” she sobs, yells, over and over like a mantra. Her fists beat the front of Alistair’s chest plate and he takes it, knowing that there is nothing that he can say that would eradicate the emotional turmoil that Cousland feels now.

It’s not enough that she finally killed Howe after he betrayed her family and ultimately sent her parents to their deaths. Her revenge feels empty, worthless, because it isn't enough that Howe took away her family, her home, her honour, even her life while she still has to live it and pick up the tiny pieces of destruction that Howe left behind. She relives the pain of her parents’ deaths over again and their faces flash in her mind like a montage. She should have stayed. She would rather have died a hundred times over than feel this pain, fighting down the howl of misery that threatened to tear at her throat. After a while she stops fighting against Alistair’s firm hold. Somehow, she relaxes, and becomes dimly aware of cool chainmail pressing against her cheek as her knees weaken. This delayed grief is too much and she barely registers Alistair setting her down in her bedroll, the coverlets pulled up to her chin. She watches him duck out of her tent and suddenly wishes that she’d asked him to stay.

She remains subdued and stoic throughout the next few days that follow. She throws herself into each battle against darkspawn and every other vile creature that creeps up from the dark holes of the earth, never batting an eyelid when she is splattered with blood and grey matter. Cousland is efficient, so nobody says anything, taking advantage of the anger that she channels through her blade. With each war cry an enemy falls and they are one step closer to the archdemon.

From growing up with Fergus and her Father, Cousland had learned not to let her emotions show. She remembers how her father never cried, nor had Fergus even when he discovered his wife and son been slaughtered in cold blood. He’d simply turned grey and walked away. Cousland didn’t see him for days after.

Even now, sat in her customary position around the fire, she can’t bring herself to look in Alistair’s direction. The moment of intimacy that they had shared a few days prior brings a pink flush to her cheeks. She feels weak, _is_ weak, for allowing herself to lose control like that. Cousland tosses a lamb bone with a few strings of meat clinging to it to Dog, who chomps at it happily. With what seems to cost her a great effort, Cousland gets to her feet, excusing herself as she retires to her tent on the far edge of camp. She doesn’t hear Alistair follow her. He clears his throat and she jumps nearly a foot in the air.

“Maker, Alistair,” she gasps, clutching at her chest. She frowns at him. “What is it?”

He looks awkward. The ever bashful Chantry boy stumbling over his words. “I – I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” she replies coldly, turning her back on him.

He reaches out and grabs her wrist, not aggressively, but she rounds on him and in a second he is slammed against a tree, a look of utmost shock etched onto his young face. Suddenly, Cousland doesn’t know what do to. She reacted on instinct. Obviously she never intended to _hurt_ Alistair, but how can she explain that now when she is practically frothing at the mouth and her fingers are digging deep into his shoulders?

But that’s the thing about Alistair: his annoying habit of always knowing what to do or say and that’s the thing that Cousland simultaneously loves and hates about him because, suddenly, his lips are on hers. She resists only for a moment until she feels a hand bracing the back of her neck and she melts into him and it’s the sweetness that she never knew she needed. Cousland returns his kisses aggressively and soon their lips taste of the angry tears that rolled down her cheeks and bled into their mouths. Alistair acknowledges this only by holding her more firmly to him, his fingers sliding up the tunic that she wears to bed to caress the feverish skin beneath. He presses their chests together and it’s then that Cousland realises that this was the outlet she needed, that she needed to be reminded that there was still good in the world and that she’s allowed to enjoy the company of someone who truly and deeply cares about her. The latter is obvious and she feels foolish that it’s taken an aggressive make-out session behind the trees for her to know that. She can tell that by Alistair’s words that she shouldn’t guilty, it’s not her fault, and at long last those words sink in.

She pulls away and wipes at her tear-stained face before wordlessly taking Alistair by the hand to lead him to her tent. She can tell that he’s just as nervous as she is, but they exchange another passionate kiss before laying down together. Alistair undresses Cousland with slow, trembling movements and she helps him undo her tunic buttons and slide down her woollen leggings. Swallowing hard, he follows suit, discarding the clothes that he usually wears under his armour. His body is more chiselled than Cousland had imagined; she runs her fingertips down his chest to his stomach before softly cupping his length. Alistair gasps at her touch yet he finds comfort in the fact that both of them are inexperienced.

They communicate mostly through kissing, their tongues intertwining whilst they allow their hands to roam of their own accord. It’s with a trembling hand that Alistair guides himself into her and he loses himself almost straight away. Cousland arches into him and mewls beautifully once he begins to move and she clutches him to her. They’ve never done this before so both know that it won't last long but they are determined to make the most of it. Alistair nudges her just the right way and she comes undone with a low whine and feels him follow soon after, his weight comforting as he pants in her ear.

“By the Maker,” he manages to gasp out and they both laugh breathlessly.

Cousland feels lighter as they wrap their bodies around one another. The contentment that swells inside of her when she glances at Alistair’s sleepy expression is foreign, as if she had forgotten what it felt like to truly have happiness in her heart until now.

**Author's Note:**

> i might make this a collection of fics of wardens and their firsts though i'm not sure yet, but they all have really interesting back stories hoo boy we'll see


End file.
